


Between Shadow and Moonlight

by Deans_Fetish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean-ish, Not Destiel, Other, Otherworldly Lover, Purgatory, Rape/Non-Con Elements - if you squint, Sexual Content, Swearing, Unknown Lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8621668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deans_Fetish/pseuds/Deans_Fetish
Summary: A soft touch, the rhythm of the ocean sighed from deep within, a gentle breath against tender skin before the brilliance of light takes wing and steals away the salty scent of the sea carried on the breeze; Dean is the recipient of all of these.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fiction's concept is based off a book that I am reading called, “The Demon Lover”, by Juliet Dark. Not knowing where to "place" the fiction a friend suggested Purgatory, so that is where I placed it.

The old house pulled at Dean, the way the wind blew the thin branches reaching outward toward the front door, it seemed to beckon him forward from the narrow dirt lane on which he stood. His eyes tightened suspiciously, narrowing at the house as a muscle in his jaw pulsed. He glanced briefly away, toward the tall pines that stood along the side of the house, almost guarding the old Victorian like soldiers that had forgotten the battle was over. Looking back at the house, one brow quirked with curiosity despite the knot that lodged in his gut and his hunters instincts that told him to take an iron pipe, his sawed off and a canister of rock salt with him. 

Licking his lips, he glanced once more toward the tree line, noting the way that the wind seemed to tip the trees toward the house as though they were all waving him forward like a Price Is Right model. His teeth clenched and he muttered a curse under his breath before marching purposefully forward, following the path paved with tiny pebbles that lead up to the porch then continued up the rickety steps to the front door. 

His eyes scanned the dusty, dirty yet intricately stained window of the front door, noticing the way the glass seemed to arch and curve like a sort of wing though the colors were far different from any bird save perhaps a cardinal, with its shades of red and black, the pointed tips to the wing shape and the way the structure arches broke the illusion up, almost the way bat wings are shaped and formed; the very idea eliciting a scoff from Dean’s lips as he reached for the doorknob. The shape and texture of it drew his gaze downward, a frown of confusion creasing his brow as he noted that what he held in his hand, though it were just as brass as anyone would expect to find on a home such as this, was carved into what appeared to be the antlers of a buck. His brow remained creased as he turned the knob and pushed open the door, which creaked on its hinges. His gaze surveyed the musty and dusty interior of the old place and through a broken window, he could hear the ocean crashing against the steep cliffs upon which the house sat, which explained the intense scent of salt air mingled with that of the wild jasmine that grew around the house. 

As he crossed the threshold the wind picked up causing the house seemingly to moan in ecstasy before the door blew softly closed behind him. A single brow quirked at the notion that something more than wind and the settling of an old house on its foundations were at work here, and he made it a point to keep his guard up as he cautiously stepped forward, his gaze darting to chairs clothed in shadow and silk against the ravages of time, tables that were older than he, dotted the entry and led the way deeper into the old Victorian’s embrace. The ocean breeze blew sheer curtains into his path, licking at his denim covered legs like tongues from some long forgotten serpent. The warm August wind that tickled the hair at his nape like the breath of a lover drew his attention as it caused the bruised and broken stairs to his right, that lead to the second story, to creak and groan like the welcoming sound of the Impala’s door. He turned toward the sound, the call like that of family and home, beckoning him in further still. His fingers twitched at his side, torn between withdrawing the pistol from the back of his waistband and following the magnetic pull of the house up the stairs. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, leading him to the base of the stair. He hesitated as he stood there gazing up into the fathomless darkness at the top. A shadow passed by, or was it perhaps a trick of the moonlight that spilled in through the open drapes and broken glass to pool at Dean’s feet like silken sheets dragged from a bed?

The hunter’s eyes tightened, squinting to see into the blackness above him, to make out shapes and movement as a cloud passed by the moon dipping the house in total darkness. As it passed, the moonlight spilled in once more, caressing Dean’s flesh and lighting the way up the stairs as though the house were inviting him to climb into the engulfing depths of its ebony embrace. With a glance behind him, Dean clenched his jaw and lifted his attention once more to the upper landing. He reached with one hand for the banister and quickly jerked it back, his eyes widening as his attention snapped toward it, the feel of what should be wood being off mingled with the way the house seemed to moan once more at his touch. His brow creased and his lips pressed in a thin line as he slowly reached for the banister again, this time without incident. Turning his gaze back toward the darkness above him, Dean slowly began to climb the steps which creaked and groaned under his weight.

When he reached the top, it almost seemed as though the moonlight had followed him as it pierced the veil of darkness, illuminating a giant four poster canopied bed to the left of him. He quirked a brow once more as he moved from the stairs further into what appeared to be one of the old bedrooms, or maybe it was the only one since the stairway seemed to open up into it. His gaze searched the room with a wary curiosity that drew him closer to the bed which was draped in cloth and still covered with linens. Instead of decay and damp earth, the sheets gave off the scent of lavender as the breeze picked up, pushing their fragrance up to Dean’s senses. The smell combined with the wild jasmine and sea into a heady intoxicating fragrance, like the scent of a woman’s musky pheromones causing the hunter to draw in a deep breath and relish the scent. 

A harsh wind suddenly blew causing the branch of one of the nearby trees to slam against the window, sending a shower of splintered glass over Dean and throwing one of the chairs propped against the large picture window to crash against his frame sending the unsuspecting hunter toppling over the end of the bed and onto the unnaturally soft mattress. He started to move, to pull himself up from his sprawled position against the soft sheets only to have a weight press against his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and pinning him to the bed as he was. He lifted his head, the only part of his body that didn’t feel weighted down and watched as a shadow passed across the open window. His eyes tightened, squinting into the moonlight that kissed the breeze and tried to make out the form. Was it the long drapes that reached out to him like delicate hands or was it something more? 

His shirt had ridden up as he’d landed and his gaze was drawn there, to that strip of bared flesh as a shadow seemed to reach out from the window and caress the area. He sucked in a breath at the ticklish feel of what he was almost certain were fingers, but it couldn’t be, it was simply the long drapes that blew in from the ocean breeze through the open window. He was certain of that due to the sudden and pungent aroma of salt and sea or jasmine and lavender that assailed his scenes, making him dizzy enough that his head fell back against the soft mattress which seemed to hug his body, holding it in a gentle embrace. He tried to draw in a cleansing breath in an attempt get his bearings once more but the cold wind that blew in through the open window stole his breath and poured down his throat, choking off his attempt to breathe; a moment later that same wind turned warm and blew into his mouth, filling his lungs. It was as if the wind itself were breathing for him, pushing cold air in once minute and pulling warm air out only to shift and do the opposite. The moonlight reflected off something, something that seemed to hover above him, but he couldn’t quite make it out as the liquid silver caught on the pieces of glass scattered around him and changed shape, undulating like a breathing person. The shadow seemed to dip beneath the front waist band of his jeans and he could have sworn that the breeze licked at the short wiry hair of the inside of his thighs, the base of his scrotum, upward along the underside of his dick. His breath hissed from his lips and his eyes squeezed closed as his hips bucked against the warm air that erotically caressed his flesh. He started to move his legs, he would move his legs if they didn’t feel so weighted down. He tried to slide his legs together and the sheer fabric of the drapes parted them once more. He felt the breeze lick at his cock again before it blew lower, teasing crevasses and pushing inside and drawing back like the sound of the waves crashing against the ocean. His hips moved, undulating in rhythm with the sea he could just hear outside the busted windows, the house itself seeming to moan as the wind picked up once more. Small branches clicked against the back of the turned over chair like the rhythmic cadence of impatient fingers. 

He pried his eyes open once more and saw something, a sort of figure hovering at the edges of moonlight and shadow and he squinted into the darkness to see. His breaths came faster with the movement of his hips and the caress of air against his most sensitive places. His body strained and arched and with another gust of air he found himself riding the tides of the ocean just outside the open windows, writhing against the softness of the bed. As he lay panting and quivering, the air and shadows pulled away, like a sheet slipping from the bed in the dead of night, pushed away by a body that had thrashed a little too hard in slumber. He fought the desire to call out to it, to beckon its return just as the house had beckoned him. 

At the side of the room, between shadow and moonlight he saw another figure, this one he was certain of. He could just barely make out something, some type of clothing or wings that fluttered in the breeze, the flicker of tousled hair. He drew in a breath to call out to the shadow, but found that he still had no voice, no ability to push words from his throat. It was in that moment that the shape just beyond the silvery spill of moonlight seemed to suck the wisp of shadow that had withdrawn from him in, as though gobbling it up and turning it into darkness. With that thought the room was filled with a brilliant light, one that had Dean squinting his eyes shut against the brilliance. A moment later, the light dissipated and slowly darkness and shadow once more reigned supreme within the house, though not before Dean had the chance to see that there had been no branches reaching through the window to tap restlessly against the wood. He had no time to dwell on that fact as the figure that had been hovering there at the edge of shadow and moonlight finally stepped forward. Dean was able make out the features of the darkened form as though it were as bright as day; and it was then that he found he could move and quickly sat up in the center of the large bed.

“Cas!” he exclaimed, eyes widening with surprise. “What the hell was that?”

“Gone,” Castiel answered simply with a slight upturn of his lips. “Gone for good.”


End file.
